“That sounds pretty ominous,” Jay Lester says, following the driving instructions that the lawyer is giving him. “It’s not as bad as all that,” the lawyer laughs, “but these people do value their privacy.” “How long has it been in existence?” “To be honest, I’m not sure. A few lawyers, looking for a safe place to spend some time with a mistress or an occasional hooker, started the club several years ago. You know, getting caught in a situation like that can be so untidy and very expensive.” “So you’ve got something like a brothel out here?” “Some of the guys still use it for meetings like that, but it’s become much more. As more powerful people, in high positions joined our group, we could see opportunities, like the one we’re going to share with you tonight, and many members have become fabulously wealthy. Turn onto this county road coming up on the left.” “I’m not opposed to being wealthy,” Jay Lester laughs. “As long as it’s on the up and up.” “Nobody’s going to jail,” Bratigum smiles, “You’ll more than likely spend your days at a country club. A minute or two passes and he directs Lester, “See that old farm house on the left, pull in there.” “What? That’s some kind of super rich man’s club? The thing needs to be torn down!” “Jay, don’t be too hasty. Pull around behind the house and into an old equipment shed, where your car can’t be seen from the road.” Parking among a half dozen other cars as he is told, Lester punches the button turning off his Cadillac, “I don’t believe this.” “You will, soon enough. Come on,” urged Stan Bratigum, opening his car door.